


Soft Spot

by ChillieBean



Series: The Golden Years [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bendoverwatch Kink Week 2019, Bisexual Ashe, Bisexual Jesse McCree, Bittersweet Ending, Come Eating, Dom/sub, Domme!Ashe, Edging, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hate Sex, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Voyeurism, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-04 07:58:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17894543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: Jesse knew liberating Echo would be bad for his mental state purely because he knew he'd be dealing with Ashe. He knew seeing her would trigger something, and honestly, he was expecting anger and resentment for the damage she did to him.In no way did he think he would be entertaining the idea of calling her for sex.





	1. The Photo

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to Soft Spot!
> 
> I've wanted to write McAshe the second I laid eyes on Ashe in Reunion. I ummed and ahhed for a long while before shouting FUCK IT into the void and writing something for me, and Bendoverwatch's Kink Week had some absolutely delicious prompts I wanted to explore.
> 
> The fic is tagged for all chapters, but if there's something I've missed or something you want tagged along the way, please don't hesitate to let me know. Prompts chosen will be at the start of each chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing this <3  
> <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: stockings/leggings, handjobs

“Jesse, wait. What are you going to do?”

Chuckling, Jesse looks over his shoulder at Echo and tips his hat. “I’ve got some business to attend to.”

She doesn’t need to know that in the short term, said business is getting adequately drunk to purge Ashe from his memory. It was all too close to home, too familiar for his liking.

In the long term… Reality is, Overwatch don’t need him, not when they can have Echo. She can protect them, help them a hundred times better than he ever could.

Walking up to Ashe’s hoverbike, he feels guilty just leaving Echo here, but he has to leave. The cops will be here soon enough, and if they see him, he'll get his ass hauled into jail. Echo, at least, can teleport. Jesse loaded the coordinates of Winston’s lab onto her chip so she knows where to go.

He climbs onto the bike and starts her up, revving her engine. He practically shudders. Christ, how he’s missed that noise, the feel of a bike under him.

With a sigh, he pulls another cigar from his pocket, glancing at Echo. “Say hi to the monkey for me.”

“Monkey?”

“Scientist.” Jesse puts the cigar between his teeth and shrugs. He should have used Winston’s name, but old habits die hard. “Whatever.”

With one final nod to Echo, Jesse takes off. Between the low rumble of the bike and the wind in his face, he truly cannot believe how much he has missed riding. It's a shame that working as a bounty hunter requires a car, for arrests, but maybe, just maybe, he might get one for those personal days between bounties.

Hell, he just _stole_ one. He can keep it if he wants. It’s not like Ashe can’t afford a new one. Knowing her, she probably has another lined up in her big, fancy garage.

He smirks as he sees the cart he left Ashe on up ahead, and it grows even wider when Ashe looks at him. Glancing at her as he flies past, he hears a quick shout from her but otherwise leaves her in his dust.

Oh, that was so very satisfying.

Picking up his speed, he drives well out of Deadlock territory, through Phoenix and into Tucson. He pulls up to his motel, parks the hoverbike around the back, and quickly ducks into the auto shop next door for a cover for it. The last thing he needs is to worry the good folks of Tucson with its very obvious Deadlock branding.

As he's about to cover the dash, he notices a picture he honestly didn’t realise was there. It’s of him and Ashe playing poker from at least twenty years ago, the photo itself is torn and put back together again. He picks it up, wincing at his ridiculous pose. What a shit of a kid he was back then. Both of them were, thinking they were tough because they could drink what they wanted and gamble nights away.

He loved games of poker with her simply because her poker face was fucking awful. She learned eventually that she would smirk when she got a good hand, sigh when her cards were shit. It didn't matter though, she might have schooled her expression over time, but he always knew her mood, simply from the look in her eyes.

With a small chuckle, he stuffs the picture into his pocket and covers the bike. He climbs the stairs to his room, his steps heavy and dragging with fatigue, and once inside, he locks the door behind him.

Sighing, he picks up the bottle of bourbon from the dining table, pours himself a glass and downs it, before pouring himself another. He takes a sip this time, placing the glass back down as he plucks off his hat first, hanging it on the corner of the chair. He shrugs off his serape and drapes it next to his hat, unclasps his chest plate and places it onto the seat. His gun belt is next, he rests it on the table because he needs to clean Peacekeeper, but that’s something that can wait until he’s had a shower and cooled off.

Picking up his glass, he walks to the bed, taking another sip before placing it on the nightstand. His shirt is next to go, the kevlar underneath, both are tossed to the bed before he sits, pulling off his boots and socks. He takes another sip of bourbon, stands, undoes his jeans, and when he pulls them down, he remembers the photo is still in his pocket. Stepping out of them, he sits on the bed and fishes it out, looking at it again.

Shit, Ashe hasn’t changed one bit since this was taken. Yeah, her hair’s shorter now, but she’s wearing the same clothes she was wearing today, the same shade of lipstick. Hell, he’s certain she was wearing the same perfume.

She certainly is a creature of habit.

As he looks a little closer, he realises this was before she got her tattoo, which means it was before he got his because they got theirs together after their first official heist as Deadlock—and the significance of _this_ picture hits him like a wave. “Christ, you’re sentimental too,” he breathes. He can remember it like it was yesterday: the laughter, the cheap beer, her perfume…

“I’m done.” Ashe drops her cards, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m done with this stupid game and your stupid smug faces.”

Jesse reaches for the pot, pulling all the chips his way. “Not my fault you got a shit poker face.” He picks up his bottle of beer, leans back and winks. “I can read you like a damn book.”

She scoffs, digging her heel into his thigh. “Rich comin’ from someone who chooses _not_ to read.”

Jesse watches as she crosses her legs at the ankles over his lap, and he follows her stockings all the way up to where they disappear under her skirt. “I read plenty.”

“Porno mags don’t count.”

Jesse looks at her and smirks. “Where do you think I got the skills to be the best mechanic you’ve ever seen?”

“You killed the toaster this morning,” she replies flatly. “Deader than when it was handed to you.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Jesse says, shrugging, glancing at Bob for an opinion.

Bob looks between the two of them, eventually settling on Jesse and nodding.

“Of course you’d take his side,” Ashe retorts, huffing. Fluidly, like cascading water, she pulls her legs away and stands, approaching the bar and reaching for a bottle of bourbon. Like the seductress she is, she stretches, causing her skirt to ride up a little more.

Fuck, he loves those stockings. They're mostly sheer, aside from the rose pattern on them, and she's sexier in them than out of them.

His eyes snap to meet hers when she turns around. Grinning, she waves the bottle, hand wrapped tightly around the neck, and Jesse nods.

“I’m done,” Mark says, glancing at Jackson.

“Me too.” Jackson stands, looking at Mark like he's already undressing him. “‘Night.”

“‘Night,” Jesse says, watching them leave. He finishes the last of his beer, placing the bottle on the table as he waits until he can’t hear their footsteps. “They’re fucking, I’m telling you.”

“Probably. They were friends long before all this,” Ashe murmurs, pouring the drinks. “Bob, give us the room. I’ll clean up.”

Bob looks at Ashe, then Jesse, and blinks.

Jesse shrugs, covering the side of his mouth with his hand and stage whispering, “I think she might be sick.” It earns him a backhand across the arm from Ashe, and it does nothing but makes him laugh.

“Fuck the both of you!” Ashe downs her bourbon before pouring more.

Bob moves to leave, and Jesse tips his hat. “‘Night, Bob.” He turns his attention to Ashe once he’s out of the room and raises an eyebrow. “You’ll clean?”

“I can clean,” she replies defensively.

“Since when have you touched a single dirty glass in your life?”

Ashe leers at him, looking him up and down slowly. “Not the kind of cleaning I had in mind,” she murmurs, climbing onto his lap.

Heart pounding, Jesse leans back. He looks up at her, her pupils are blown wide. “Liz…”

“Been thinking about you,” she breathes, dragging her hands up his chest, settling on his bare shoulders under his vest. “You’ve got a great body, a killer personality. I've seen you looking at me when you think I'm not watching.” A sly smirk spreads on her lips. “And why is it fair that they’re fucking and we’re not?”

“Doesn't seem fair, truthfully.”

Ashe hums, grabbing her glass from the table and holding it up, and Jesse reaches for his, looking into her eyes. “To us.”

Jesse clinks his glass against hers, maintaining eye contact as he downs the lot. He slides his glass on the table, resting his hands on her thighs. Biting his lip, he pushes up her skirt, just a little, revealing the suspenders connecting to her stockings and it's then that he realises she wearing a garter belt too— _fuck_ , she really couldn't get any sexier.

“You like it? I got 'em for you.”

Jesse looks up at her, and her eyes sparkle more than he's ever seen. “You planned this.”

She rolls her eyes. “One of us had to make a move, you sure as shit wasn't going to.”

“Was waiting for the right time,” Jesse replies, sliding his hands up to rest on the bare skin of her inner thighs, lavishing at how soft it is. She spreads her legs a little wider, causing her skirt to ride up further and Jesse can see the barest hint of her red underwear. “Goddamn,” he breathes, meeting her eyes. “No time like the present.”

She winks before leaning down, her nose brushes against his cheek. Jesse closes the distance and they share a kiss, a small, gentle thing before Jesse cups the back of her head. The kiss deepens, he licks her bottom lip, tasting her lipstick, and he’s rewarded with her tongue sliding against his.

It’s all over after that as pure lust takes over. Jesse roughly unbuttons her shirt as she works on his jeans. He moans when he feels her hand slip into her underwear, and breaks off the kiss when she pulls out his cock, looking at her hand wrapped around it.

“You’re certainly a big boy,” she purrs, tracing a finger from base to tip. “I’m not surprised.”

Smirking, he turns his attention to her red lacy bra. He grabs her tits in two handfuls and they're just perfect, not too big, not too small. When she wraps her hand around his cock and pulls, he meets her gaze.

Fuck, he has imagined this exact scenario countless times, giving in at the end of a game. All of his fantasies end the same way: laying her on the table and fucking her hard and fast. If his head was screwed on properly and if he wasn't afraid of what she or the others would say if discovered, he would have a condom in his pocket right this very moment. 

But there's plenty of time for that. Right now, he's going to indulge in this quick, desperate handjob.

His hips buck as he feels the pressure in his core. Dropping his left hand onto her thigh, he drags it under her skirt to rub his thumb against her through her underwear, just for a moment, before sliding inside.

She moans when he rubs against her clit, and she crashes their lips together. He applies a little more pressure, alternating between a slow circular pattern and back and forth fast and rough. Her hips jerk and she moans again, louder.

They have to be quiet—well they _should_ be quiet, they’re right in the middle of the living room and _anyone_ could hear them. Hell, anyone can walk in and see them, which honestly adds to the thrill of this all. But, if Ashe wants to let the entire house know that they're fucking, that the moans she's making are because of _him_ , then so fucking be it, he couldn’t care less.

“Fuck,” Ashe groans, breaking off the kiss. Her back arches, she knocks off his hat and drops her head, moaning quietly in his ear. He can tell she's holding back by the way she bites back her moans, but it’s just a little preview of how vocal she can be. Given just how loud she is everywhere else he can’t _wait_ to hear her fully, uninhibited, and the very thought of it is enough to push him over the edge.

With one final moan, one last squeeze of her breast, he comes, burying his face in the crook of her neck and breathing in her perfume. He basks in the afterglow as he feels his come soak through his jeans.

When she brushes her nose against his cheek, he turns his head and they share a soft kiss. When she pulls away, she looks at her come-covered hand. He glances up at her, and the moment their eyes lock, she licks her hand clean.

“Goddamn, Liz,” Jesse breathes.

“I had fun,” she says, scooting back and buttoning up her shirt. She climbs off him, smirk teasing her lips. “Though next time, I wanna take my time with you. And,” she leans down, “I won’t be quiet,” she whispers, biting down on his earlobe.

Jesse groans, grabbing her tie to keep her in place, and the moment she lets go of his earlobe, he kisses her.

“You can clean up, right?” she asks as she stands, the tie slipping from his grasp. Before Jesse can even answer, she’s out of the room.

Jesse looks down at himself, at the come on his jeans, and he brings his thumb up to his nose, smelling her scent and fuck, she smells so pretty.

The memory starts to fade, becoming rough at the edges like the picture in his hand as Jesse settles in the present again. He exhales slowly, bushing his thumb against his lips, and when he closes his eyes, he can taste her.

“Fuck,” he mutters, opening his eyes and settling on his traitorous cock. He's so hard he's straining almost painfully against his underwear, and there's a nice darkened spot because of course, just to add insult to injury, he's leaking pre.

He _knew_ liberating Echo would be bad for his mental state purely because he knew he'd be dealing with Ashe. He knew seeing her would trigger _something_ , and honestly, he was expecting anger and resentment for the damage she did to him.

In no way did he think he would be entertaining the idea of calling her for sex.

He shuts the thought down immediately. He knocked her out, tied her up, stole her bike, for fuck's sake. She's probably figured out that he used her to get to Echo, she's not going to be down to fuck. Besides, he can allow this single moment of weakness, to think about her—her touch, her smell, her taste—and jerk off in the shower. The last time he'll ever think about her in that way.

But he _knows_ his body. He won't be able to let this go until he sleeps with her.

“She's the one who had the damn picture,” he mutters, grabbing his phone from the dining table like he needs it to convince himself that this is a good idea.

Opening the messaging app, he inputs her number—why he can still remember it is beyond him—and types up a quick message: _Truce. You up for some double solitaire?_ He looks up, through his window at the bar across the street, before typing up the address and hitting send.

He places the phone on the table and sits on the couch. It'll be a while before he hears back. She'll be pissed off beyond comprehension by the proposal, probably smash a few things, but he knows her. If she's kept _this_ picture, she won't have forgotten their code for sex, and she's _never_ turned down sex.

At least this time, they're meeting in a very public place.

And this time, he won't hesitate to put her down if he suspects an ambush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Practice safe sex, kids.


	2. The Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Hate sex

Jesse looks into his bourbon, sighing as he spins the glass on the bar slowly, watching the alcohol ripple with each rotation. 

He glances at his phone, checks it for the hundredth time at least. Ashe is already thirty minutes late. She replied to his message surprisingly quickly: _deal the hand, two hours_. It gave him enough time to shower, clean Peacekeeper, move the bike to a different spot in the parking lot, hide the keys in the motel room’s safe and sit here, getting comfy on this barstool.

With each minute that passes, the ball of anxiety sitting in his gut grows. He's sure he is about to have his ass handed to him. His other flesh arm at the very least.

He can feel Peacekeeper's weight on his hip and it provides some comfort. He's sure just about everyone in here is carrying, so if she tries anything, he's sure they'll have his back, considering he bought everyone a round when he sat down.

Looking back into his glass, he picks it up, downing the lot. He makes eye contact with the bartender, raising his glass for another.

“Make it a double,” Jesse murmurs. The bartender nods, pouring the drink before walking away. Jesse is glad that this bartender doesn’t say anything or ask questions, just does what he needs to and moves on.

Maybe Jesse just has a guilty look on him, that ‘leave me the fuck alone because I’m hooking up with my ex’ look that he’s sure this poor bartender has seen over the years given the seedy motel across the road.

Whatever the reason, Jesse is happy that he can just sit here, wallow in self-pity, push away the doubt in his mind that this is a monumentally bad idea and embrace the single lusty thought of fucking Ashe.

And with that thought, he hears a hoverbike outside. He keeps his head down, one eye on the door, hears the _clack_ of heels on the pavement before it swings open. It’s Ashe all right, she scans the bar, and Jesse gives a simple nod of his head to get her attention. The look of rage is written all over her face—seems she’s still shit at keeping her mood hidden.

One positive, as she walks over to him, is she doesn’t have her rifle on her. Doesn’t mean she’s not carrying, who knows what in her handbag, but it’s not her rifle at least.

No one else follows behind her, which means he’s not about to have his ass hauled out of here by the gang. He’s kept an eye on those who were in the bar before he arrived and those who arrived since, and he’s almost certain none of them are Deadlock.

She drops into the seat next to him and doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make eye contact. The bartender approaches, looking at her.

“What he’s having,” she says with the jerk of her head.

The bartender places a glass down, pouring the bourbon. Jesse reaches into his pocket and slides a credit chip across the bar.

“Keep it.”

The bartender takes the chip, glances at Ashe, gives Jesse a sympathetic smile before he walks away.

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly, tenses the muscles in his leg to keep it from bouncing. He takes a sip of bourbon to try and calm down, while giving Ashe space, to let her have the first words.

But with every moment that passes, as the smell of her perfume grows stronger, Jesse's dick grows harder and harder. As much as he tries, he can’t stop thinking about leaning in, kissing her neck and basking in the aroma.

“You stole my bike,” she says quietly.

Jesse glances at her, and she’s slumped over the bar, looking at her drink. Of all the things she could open with, that is the most surprising. He figured everything before then would have been worth mentioning over the bike. “It’s safe.”

“Better be or so help me—” she stops short, glances at him from the corner of her eye for the barest of moments before looking at the glass again and sighing. “What do you want, McCree? To add insult to injury? To rub it in my face that you won?”

“Figured I did enough of that before.”

“Then what?” she asks, finally looking at him for longer than a second.

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly, picks up his glass as he stands, approaching a table in the corner of the room. He uses the opportunity to slide the photo out of his pocket and hold it in his hand before sitting.

Ashe scowls from the bar. After a moment, she drags the glass across the counter and stalks over to the table. She drops into the seat, and this time bores into him.

Fuck, she was always hot when she was angry.

This is not helping things.

Tapping his finger on the rim of his glass, Jesse gets down to business. “I want to make sure I’m not goin’ to be busted in on.”

“I came alone,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Your word. If it still means something to you.”

If looks could kill, Jesse would be dead before he hit the ground. But he can see it in the way her face changes ever so slightly, where the anger drops, just for a moment, that he has it. She might be a wanted criminal, but she's a woman of her word. “You have my word I’m not about to have my guys come in and take you away.”

“I want your word that you aren’t going to put a bullet between my eyes.”

Ashe huffs. “If I wanted you dead you’d already _be_ dead.”

“You know why I called you, and you’re smarter than that.” Jesse smirks, picking up his glass as he leans back in his seat, taking a sip. “You wouldn't walk into a public place and drop me.”

Ashe rolls her eyes but gives a curt nod. “Ain’t goin’ to take your other arm either, if that’s your next question.”

“It was, and thanks.”

“And _I_ want your word that you haven’t lured me into a trap, are about to hand me into the police, harm me, kill me.”

If Jesse wanted that, he would have done it as part of his sting. And despite everything, he still has a soft spot for her. “You have my word.”

The frown drops from Ashe's face as she smirks. “So this really was a booty call?”

Rolling his eyes, Jesse looks at his closed fist, placing it on the table and opening his hand. “What’s with this?”

“That’s—” Ashe tries to swipe the photo, but Jesse pulls his hand back. “Fuck you, McCree!” she cries, folding her arms across her chest as she falls back into her chair.

“Why do you think I called you?” He chuckles, and that earns him the biggest glare he has ever been witness to. “You kept this.”

Ashe narrows her eyes. “I have one on my dart board. Another on my bedroom door with a knife through your forehead. You want those too?”

“This is different,” Jesse says, opening his hand to look at the photo. “This is one you ripped up and put back together.” He glances at her. “You've still got feelings for me.”

Ashe shakes her head, picking up her glass. “I can assure you I don't,” she mutters, taking a sip.

“You do,” Jesse says, smirking slyly, “‘cause it’s from _that_ night.”

“It was random poker night,” Ashe says dismissively, shrugging as she takes another sip of her drink. “Nothing special.”

“Naw,” Jesse replies, and she looks away; he's got her now. “You know the significance of this night.” He gives her a moment, his smile only growing wider as he can clearly see that she is fighting the urge to look at him.

“What’s it to you?!”

Jesse takes a breath and holds it. A deafening silence fills the bar as every single person looks at them. “Easy now.”

“What?! Too ashamed to let everyone know that you only called me across town to fuck me?!”

“Christ, woman,” Jesse mutters, downing his drink. He slams the glass down on the table and stands, no way entertaining the idea of letting her have the last word. “You wanna fuck? Let’s go.” He gives her one last glare before storming out of the bar.

Keeping his eyes forward as he steps on the street, and a part of him is relieved that he can hear her follow. He crosses the road, climbs the stairs, pushes the door open so violently it bounces off the wall. Taking a deep breath, his cock strains more and more in his jeans as he hears her footsteps approach.

He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it to the couch, and the second she closes the door, Jesse rushes forward, pins her against it and kisses her hard. It’s sloppy, messy, and hard to really enjoy it, but the visceral feeling of lust, of desire and _need,_ pushes him through.

After a moment, Ashe presses her hands to his chest, pushing against him hard enough to get his attention and break off the kiss. “You fucking stole my bike,” she breathes, before grabbing handfuls of his shirt and pulling him down again into another kiss. She straddles his leg and Jesse follows her lead, grinding it against her. She moans, loud, desperate, and it’s like music to his fucking ears.

Jesse slides his hands up, inside her coat, and she drops her arms, one at a time. It falls to the floor, heavy, and he starts to unbutton her shirt. He can smell her perfume now, so incredibly strong, he can feel it calling him, and he slides his lips to her neck.

She flicks off his hat and tangles her fingers in his hair as he continues unbuttoning her shirt. “You fucking tied me up.”

“Had something to do,” he murmurs against her skin, pushing her shirt back. He pulls away, looking at her black lacy bra, sucking in a breath at how it contrasts incredibly against her pale skin.

“You fucking dismembered Bob!”

Jesse growls, pulling his head up. “This how you wanna play it?” he asks, glaring at her. “You fucking took my arm.”

She smirks, a small little thing, like Jesse losing his temper is some kind of win for her. “It had something which belonged to me,” she says offhandedly.

“Plenty of things you could’ve done: blacked out the tattoo, skinned the fucking thing off. You didn’t need to take the whole damn arm.”

Ashe shrugs, tracing a finger up his prosthetic arm. “Seems like you’re making do.”

Jesse smirks, dragging it down her torso. He slides into her underwear, rubbing against her. “I am.”

“Fuck,” she moans, bucking against his hand. She undoes her pants, pushing them and her underwear down, giving Jesse room to work. When she starts getting into it, he pulls his hand away, and she groans. “Fuck you,” she says, breathless.

With a wink, Jesse drops to his knees, kissing her stomach, over her navel piercing, the stripe of pubic hair. He can already smell her, and his mouth absolutely waters as he leans in, kissing her lips gently before licking against the seam.

“Christ.” She quivers, pushing his head back down when he looks up at her. He licks again, separating her lips, and the moment he gets that first proper taste, he moans, licking and sucking and grazing his teeth against her clit like it’s a damn meal.

Memories of what they had come flooding back, a time when things were simpler: of scorching summers where they were too horny and too hot to properly fuck so they ate each other out instead. Of freezing winters buried under the blankets for warmth. Of heists gone right, heists gone wrong. The anger, the laughter—and right now, his heart aches for losing it all.

He snaps back to reality when she grabs his hair in a tight handful, and he reminds himself those memories were from a lifetime ago. So he enjoys her at this moment now; her smell, her taste. He pushes aside his childish desires to get her close and pull away, to get her all riled up because he has been _craving_ her all damn evening and he’s not about to cut himself short until he’s had his fill.

“I fucking hate that you’re so good with your mouth—” she moans, her hips buck as he slips two fingers inside her. “I fucking hate that you still know what I like.”

He keeps going, despite wanting to tell her to shut the hell up so he can actually enjoy this, but he knows she’s close by the simple fact that her moans get higher and higher pitched. He lets her have this one, not that he really has much choice given her grip on his hair, not that he cares, he _wants_ this, working her apart with his tongue and fingers alone.

“Jesse!” She moans, her rocking turns into little jerks as she tightens around his fingers. He gives her a moment, the time to come down from the high, before sliding his fingers out and standing up, undoing his jeans and letting his cock out because any more pressure and he’s sure his dick will tear through.

She pulls him down into another hard kiss, licking his lips, into his mouth, chasing her taste. His cock twitches and he takes it in his hand.

“I fucking hate—”

“ _I_ fucking hate that you talk too damn much,” Jesse retorts, sliding his hand up to her neck. He doesn’t squeeze, just rests it there.

Ashe glares at him. “Your stupid face.”

“I hate your hair.” He looks at both sides, back and forth. “Ain’t even on both sides.”

Despite her glare, he can see the lusty desire in her eyes. He rests his hands on her hips and around to her ass, and when she wraps her arms around his neck, he picks her up and walks her to the bed.

“You’re just a cowboy wannabe.”

Jesse can’t help but chuckle, an autonomous response now whenever anyone picks on his look and completely means it. “You think you're an outlaw,” he says, kicking off his boots, shucking his pants and underwear, kicking everything aside, “but you’re just that same scared, frightened little girl from twenty years ago.”

“You left me,” she growls.

“Didn’t have a choice,” he murmurs. He focuses on this moment, the last thing he wants is to get lost down the rabbit hole of the past, of the day he was torn from her arms. Not that she would understand or properly listen to what he has to say. She didn't five years ago, she won't now.

He pulls her boots off, tossing them behind him before pulling down her pants and underwear, dropping everything to the floor before roughly turning her over. He unhooks her bra and she slides it off as he takes off his shirt.

Lifting her hips, he lines himself at her entrance and pushes in, moaning. She's so tight and warm and _familiar._  He doesn't stop, not until he's pressed against her ass, and he holds still, just for a moment, before pulling out just as slowly.

“You turned on me.”

“Tried to protect you,” he breathes, leaning down, kissing her neck and breathing in her perfume.

“You’re a damn liar—” she moans when he grabs her breast, kneading and pulling on her nipple gently.

“You wouldn’t be out here—a free woman—if I didn’t stop them.” Jesse stands, hands resting back on her hips and he increases his speed. He’s done talking, he just wants to lose himself in this moment so his body is good and ready and done with her. Then he can get on with his life.

“You must be desperate if you called me over the collective population of Arizona.” She looks over her shoulder, smirking. Clearly, this isn't hard enough to shut her up, so he slams his hips into her as hard as he can. To his frustration, it doesn't deter her—she always preferred rough sex. “Is it that hard for you to find someone?”

“Says the nympho who literally dropped everything for my dick,” he grunts, increasing his speed again.

“I still hate you,” she breathes.

“You. Don't,” he growls, punctuating both words with hard thrusts. “You have the picture, not me.”

She doesn't respond to that, and thank fuck the only noises out of her mouth are just moans. She's loud, just like she was always loud, he can barely hear the sound of skin slapping against skin over her.

He can feel his orgasm now, the tightened coil ready to snap, and he drags his hand up her back, curling around her hair and pulling tight.

“Jesse!” She moans his name, over and over, as he feels her tighten around him, as he pulls on her hair harder to help her through her orgasm because he’s a gentleman like that.

Once she's quietened down, he finally gives in, thrusting to finish. He leans down, kissing between her shoulder blades and getting drunk off her perfume. Moaning against her skin as he comes, he allows this one moment to give in, pretend it's like old times and be done with her.

She falls to the bed when he eventually stops grinding, and Jesse falls with her, rolling onto his side without pulling out. He doesn’t say anything, neither does she, and he expects her to recoil, but she stays stock-still.

Listening to her deep breaths, he wants to feel shame, to feel dirty for giving in and calling her, to feel weak for not being able to resist, but he feels calm. Probably the calmest he’s been in months.

But this must end, and with one last deep breath of her perfume, he pulls out. He climbs off the bed and walks to the bathroom, wetting a hand towel, wiping himself down and taking a piss. By the time he’s done, Ashe is in his bed, sitting against the headboard, tits out and sheet up to her waist.

“Gonna stay the night if you don’t mind.”

Jesse narrows his eyes. “Thought you hated me.” 

She shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “I got it out of my system.”

Jesse just stares at her. She has fifteen years of hatred built up, there's no way she got it all out of her system with a single angry fuck.

He should use this opportunity to leave her behind. She can have the room while he hits the open road, but he’s so fucking tired he can barely keep his eyes open. He knows staying here a risk, but he’ll be more of a danger to himself if he drives this fatigued. Besides, he can leave before she wakes.

“Guess it would be unkind of me to send you home this late at night,” he says, picking his underwear off the floor and putting them on. “I’ll be on the couch.” He grabs his pillow first, his jeans, then Peacekeeper, placing her under his pillow followed by the picture—she’s sure as shit not getting her hands on it until he’s ready to hand it over—before lying down.

After a moment, he hears Ashe climb out of the bed, her footsteps disappearing into the bathroom. “As long as you don’t kill me in my sleep,” he calls out.

“I’m a woman—”

“Of your word, got it.”

He fights sleep, waiting until she’s in bed again before giving in.

It’s times like these he’s glad he’s a light sleeper. The second she moves, he’ll hear it.

And he’ll be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I headcanon that Ashe doesn't want kids, partly because she knows having a kid would be a liability with the life she leads, but mostly because she doesn't want her child to have the same shitty upbringing she had. She's had measures taken to ensure she can't biologically have kids (in a world where this is a thing) and Jesse knows this, which is why there's no discussion about using protection.
> 
> Remember kids, this is a piece of fiction. Always practice safe sex irl.


	3. "Fucking you literally."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Spanking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dom/sub too if that's not really your thing.

Jesse hums as he wakes, stretching his legs out as far as he can. He rolls onto his back, scratches his chest, adjusts his morning wood so it’s not uncomfortable, and opens his eyes, looking at the ceiling.

He can’t really remember why he’s sleeping on the couch, and being down to his underwear means he didn’t pass out. Unless he undressed and passed out. He remembers freeing Echo, the encounter with Ashe—and just like a wave crashing into him, he remembers the night before. He did drink, enough to get him on the right side of drunk, enough to still be able to handle Peacekeeper if necessary, enough to be able to tolerate her.

Tolerate her because he fucked her. That’s why he’s on the couch. Then he remembers his plans to leave before she wakes—adrenaline pumps through his veins as he sees a figure standing over him on the corner of his eye. His heart pounds in his chest, but he stays stock still otherwise.

The figure doesn’t move, and after a moment he turns his head ever so slightly, seeing Ashe. She’s holding something in her hand, and his fight or flight response kicks in. He wonders if he could reach under his pillow to grab his gun before she makes a move—

“What in the hell are you holding?” he breathes, realising it is in fact not a weapon in the traditional sense. He knows a dildo when he sees it.

“Oh, this?” Ashe waves it around. It’s violet in colour, double ended, and has straps connected to it. Jesse’s cock twitches at the very sight of it. “Just something I want to play with.”

“Really now?” Jesse asks, sitting up. He takes her in, and his heart leaps into his throat. She’s wearing a matching red bra and underwear, a black garter belt, and those damn rose stockings from all those years ago. “Hot damn,” he breathes, meeting her eyes. “You planned this.”

“I did,” she says with the biggest grin plastered on her face.

Jesse chuckles, and he reaches for her, grasping her waist and pulling her in close. He rests his chin on her stomach as he looks up at her. “Are you _that_  desperate for my dick that sleeping with me once wasn’t enough?”

“I brought it because I was going to fuck you one way or another. Since I’m a woman of my word, seems like I’m fucking you literally.” She smirks slyly. “If you’re still into that kind of thing.”

“You know me, life’s too short to limit yourself to just one thing.” He kisses her stomach softly, hands trailing down to her ass. He really did have no intentions to sleep with her again, but he can’t turn this down, not when she’s got herself all dressed up.  

And one more time means he’ll truly get her out of his system.

“We doing this, or are you going to keep making out with my stomach?”

Jesse looks up at her, smirking. “Someone’s eager.”

Ashe glares back, single eyebrow raised.

Kissing her stomach one last time, he pulls away. He tries to adjust himself, given now that he’s rock hard, but his underwear really is a hindrance, so he pushes them down, tucking the band under his balls and taking himself in his hand. “Go on, get yourself ready.”

Her glare darkens into a scowl, and after a moment, like a switch being flipped, she smirks, bringing a hand between her legs. Jesse tightens his grip and bites his lip, realising her underwear is crotchless as she fingers herself.

He meets her eyes again, and when she sighs softly, his eyes drop, watching as she rubs the toy against herself. “Fuck, you know how to put on a show,” he breathes as she slowly pushes it inside herself before pulling it most of the way out, then back in, fucking it. “Goddamn,” he murmurs, tugging to match her speed.

She’s holding back her moans, but he can hear just how much she’s getting off on this by her shallow breathing and little gasps. “I think that's enough enjoying yourself,” she says after a moment, voice breathy. He’s certain she’s saying that to herself than him; honestly, he could watch her all damn day.

She pulls the dildo out, turns it and pushes the other end inside, strapping it around her hips and thighs. She walks to the bed, picks up a bottle of lube and glances over her shoulder. “You coming?”

“Yes ma’am,” Jesse replies, standing, kicking away his underwear before approaching the bed and sitting down. Ashe stands between his legs, wrapping her hand around the dildo. 

“Suits you.”

“Old rules?”

“Straight to business,” Jesse says with a chuckle, letting go of himself and resting his hands on his thighs. They would occasionally dabble in kinky roleplay, bondage, safe words, the works. He hasn't met anyone since Ashe whom he's been comfortable sharing the experience with, and right now, he didn't realise how much he's missed it.

“You remember the safe word?”

“Wasabi.”

Ashe smirks, holding out the lube. “Get yourself ready.”

Without looking away, Jesse takes the lube as he stands. He climbs onto the bed, resting on his knees before slicking up two fingers. Maintaining eye contact with Ashe, he reaches around, massaging his hole before pushing in.

He grabs his cock with his other hand as he savours the stretch. Ashe raises an eyebrow and he lets go of himself, resting his hand on his thigh once more.

“That one's going to cost you,” she coos, taking a step forward and tracing a finger down his jawline. “If you want something to do, suck my cock. Show me how good you are with your mouth.”

With a wink, Jesse crouches down, grabs the dildo at the base and licks against the tip. He moans, it's _coated_ in her juices and the taste is delectable.

He wraps his hand tightly around his cock again as he licks the underside of the dildo from base to tip. He can't help it really—it's just like the kinky fantasy he thinks about more often than he would care to admit, where he is in a threesome with her and he's sucking the dick of the guy who just fucked her.

His cock twitches in his hand, and he tugs, matching the speed of his bobbing. He glances up at her every now and then, and once he's got a good rhythm going, he focuses on getting himself ready.

Once he's nice and relaxed—the dildo is on the smaller end of cocks he's taken—he pulls out his fingers, resting his hand on her pelvis, just above the dildo. Sucking on the tip, he looks at Ashe as he slides his thumb between the dildo and her clit, massaging the hardened bud before taking the dildo all the way, until his nose brushes against her pubic hair.

Moaning, Ashe drops a hand onto his head, and Jesse applies more pressure to her clit with his thumb. She moans again, louder and more desperate, and when she pulls back on his hair, Jesse comes off completely. He looks her in the eye, keeping his thumb pressed to her clit.

“That one’s goin’ to cost you, too,” she says, voice breathy.

“And what exactly is the punishment?” Jesse asks, sitting back and tightening his grip on himself.

“Five spanks for everything I deem an offence.”

Jesse smirks and most definitely doesn’t stop rubbing. “That so?”

“You’re up to fifteen now.”

“That so?”

“You wanna make it twenty?”

With a wink, Jesse stands on his knees again, stops massaging her clit to curl his hand around the back of her neck, kissing her. He wraps his hand around his cock and the dildo and squeezes.

As their tongues slide together, Ashe’s hands settle on his chest, fingernails digging in and leaving a satisfying burn in their wake. She cups his pecs, squeezes tight before pinching his nipples lightly, and he groans as she twists them. He breaks off the kiss, takes the half second to recover, before diving right back in, kissing harder than before, not even caring if this is breaking whatever rule she deems an offence.

She moans, biting his bottom lip gently before resting her forehead against his. “Twenty,” she breathes, opening her eyes and pulling away. “Bend over.”

Jesse winks, turns around and rests on all fours before crawling further onto the bed to give her room to work. He feels the bed dip under her weight as she climbs on, her hands settle on his ass, squeezing tight, before her right hand comes up… and stays there. He should have figured that she would stall—

Her hand comes down hard, five times in quick succession. Each one stings more than the last, but he moans because he really is a masochist and if he’s not careful he _could_ come untouched.

“Sounded like you enjoyed that more than you should have,” Ashe says, rubbing her hand over his stinging cheek gently.

“Get off on it,” Jesse replies, looking over his shoulder and winking.

Ashe arches an eyebrow, and without breaking eye contact, reaches for the lube. She drizzles some on the dildo first, then onto her fingers. He quivers when she massages his hole. “Since when?”

“Met a guy who was into it, asked if he could try it and well,” he chuckles, “that night ended much quicker than either of us had anticipated.”

“Aww, still the quick draw,” she says, utterly condescending as she pushes her fingers in. She's got a certain roughness to her, her movements quick and precise but still cautious enough that it's not painful. She finds her target quick enough, and Jesse shudders as she massages his prostate.

“I hate that nickname,” he groans.

“I know.” Ashe applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, and he tightens his grip on the duvet. He knows her play here, she’s trying to make him come to prove her point, but he’s not about to give her the satisfaction.

Without warning, she spanks him again, another five times on the other cheek that leaves him moaning and tensing every single muscle in his body to stave off his orgasm.

“Tell me,” she says, rubbing her hand soothingly, “do you like it better with or without warning?”

“Without.” Jesse glances over his shoulder. “The anticipation of not knowing makes it all worth it.”

Ashe hums, pulling her fingers out. Almost immediately, he feels the dildo pressing against him. “Well then,” she says, pushing in slowly, not stopping until he feels her hips pressed against him, “the next ten will be a surprise too.”

She thrusts slow to start, and despite trying her hardest to maintain composure, Jesse can hear just how turned on she is by her shallow breaths.

“Been a while since you fucked someone?” Jesse asks, rocking his hips and meeting her thrusts.

“Most men don't like a dominant woman in the bedroom.”

“They're missing out then.”

Ashe increases her speed a little and moans. “Women on the other hand,” she breathes, squeezing his hips, “love me.”

Jesse opens his mouth to ask since when she had an eye for the ladies, but she stops thrusting, only to land another five spanks on his ass. He moans, now teetering on the edge of orgasm, and he rests his head on his closed fists, doing his best to regain some semblance of composure as she relentlessly fucks him.

“I'm sorry,” she says after a moment, slowing her thrusts, “were you going to say something?”

“Nope,” Jesse groans.

“This isn’t too much, is it?” she asks, and he can hear her smirk. Despite it, despite the sarcasm in her tone, he knows this is a genuine check, and there’s no way he’s going to stop, not now.

“I’m good,” he says, lifting himself back up. When she lands the last five, he wants to make sure he's ready to grab himself.

She picks up her pace again, sliding her hand up his back. As she drags it back down hard—so hard he knows he'll have scratches—he groans. He doesn't say anything about it, he's dealt with worse, and it's nowhere near unbearable to use the safe word.

When he feels her hand pull away, he takes himself in his hand, just in time to catch all five spanks. He doesn't tug, just wraps his hand around himself and lets his body do the rest, his hips bucking as he comes.

Her thrusts turn into a grind, her moans are so loud it could be called screaming. Eventually, she slows to a grind before stopping and she loses the death grip on his hips. She pulls out and Jesse rolls into his side, she collapses beside him, smiling.

“Seems like you enjoyed yourself,” Jesse says, scooting closer to her to rest a hand on her hip.

“You're a good fuck,” she murmurs, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “And I don't know about you, but I'm fuckin’ hungry.”

Jesse hums, now that the sex is well and truly done, he can feel his stomach rumble. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Was twelve p.m. when I tried waking you.”

“Fuck,” Jesse groans, sitting up and confirming the time on the clock on the nightstand. “I never sleep in.”

Ashe rolls her eyes. “Have you clearly gone that long without sex that you've forgotten it knocks you out?” She pushes herself up on her elbow. “Do you know how much I hated it when you'd fall asleep straight away and wake a solid twelve hours later? It was fucking annoying.”

“Old habits die hard,” Jesse says with a chuckle. He takes one last glance at her and commits _that_ image to memory considering she's still wearing the dildo. “I'll have a quick shower, then I'll shout you breakfast.” With a groan, he pulls himself up and climbs off the bed, realising that since it’s so late it’s well past breakfast. “Lunch.” He leans over the couch, grabs Peacekeeper and the photo, turning back around. “Whatever.”

“Least you can do for taking my bike,” she says.

“I thought the sex more than made up for it,” he replies, winking as he passes her. As he steps into the bathroom, he's hit with a pillow to the back of his head and he laughs, turning, closing the door and locking it.

Lunch, then he'll send her on her way.


	4. Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Exhibition/voyeurism, blowjob

Jesse rests his head on closed fists, letting the hot water cascade down his back.

Stone cold sober and sexually sated, he finally has a moment to think clearly. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would have sex with Ashe again. In no way did he think it would happen twice in one day.

 _Especially_ after their previous encounter.

The last time they met—the time she took his arm—it started out innocently. She found him, they had some of the wildest and best sex he thinks he’s ever had. When he woke, it was in a hospital room and his arm was gone.

She stopped by while he was still high on painkillers—he thinks anyway, he’s not certain if it was a dream or not because his memory is incredibly fuzzy. She told him she’d risked everything coming but she needed to see him, tell him in person that she got what she came for, and that she left $50k in his bank account to pay for the best prosthetic money can buy—like she fucking looked up how much a good one cost before she took the arm.

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly, letting the anger simmer away. Ultimately, he knows he got off easy. Betrayal to the gang is punishable by death, and he knows Ashe had a hand in making sure that _didn’t_ happen. It’s perplexing; if the situations were reversed, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated to take her out.

It clearly shows that despite everything, she still has feelings for him. They agreed after that first night all those years ago that it would be casual sex only. No feelings, no emotions, no dating. Sure, Jesse will admit there was an attachment there, he spent every single moment with Ashe by his side. Towards the end though, he’d thought about telling her he loved her. He had this stupid idea in his mind that he would be in her arms forever, that they would be outlaws till the end.

He huffs a sardonic laugh. Those feelings disappeared, washed away like sand swept out to sea the longer he was away from her. Yeah, he has a soft spot for her, but he’ll never love her. Never have feelings for her like he did twenty years ago, because it doesn’t erase the fact that she took his damn arm in the first place.

With a sigh, he stands to full height, tilting his head back. Ashe loves _him_ though. He can see it in her eyes, in her playful teasing. That’s ultimately why he didn’t question the decision to call her. He knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t try anything. Granted, the only reason why he called her in the first place was because of that damned picture, but honestly, between lusting for her and drinking himself into oblivion to forget the encounter, he knows which one he prefers.

Opening his eyes, he looks at the bathroom door. If he’s lucky, Ashe has taken off. Surely by now, she’s had her fill too, and the offer of lunch was just a promise they both knew would be broken.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he finishes stalling, shutting off the water. He dries himself, combs back his hair, wraps the towel around his waist, grabs Peacekeeper and the photo, and unlocks the door.

As he opens it, he hears her: panting, cursing, moaning softly. He pauses, just for a moment, wondering what the hell she’s doing, but as the realisation dawns on him that she’s playing with herself, he knows that it is wholly fucking intentional because she is a fucking temptress.

He opens the door fully then, and yep, there she is, spread eagle on the bed, fingers inside herself.

The second she makes eye contact with him, she smirks, moaning a little louder now. Jesse sucks in a breath, tightening his grip on the door handle and frozen in place.

As time goes on, as she edges closer to orgasm using her fingers alone, as his cock gets so hard he’s tenting the towel around his waist, she doesn’t beckon him, doesn’t tell him to get his dick inside her and fuck her into next week.

Since this is clearly some form of roleplay, for her to get caught pleasuring herself, Jesse gives in, acting like the voyeur she wants him to be. Crossing the room, he approaches the dining table, placing the gun and photo down before pouring himself a bourbon and pulling out a dining chair, facing the bed. He unwraps his towel and drapes it on the back of the chair before sitting, ghosting his fingertips up his erection and resting an elbow on the table. If she wants to put on a show, he’ll gladly watch.

She seems to be taking her time with it, really enjoying herself as she alternates between plunging her fingers inside herself and massaging her clit with one hand, playing with her tits with her other; kneading and pinching and twisting her nipples. She watches him like a hawk through it all, moaning and biting her lip when he feels the dribble of precome down the underside of his cock.

Jesse resists the urge to touch himself, instead slowly sipping on his bourbon as he focuses on the pitch of her moans, the way her eyes flutter, the smirk that’s still plastered on her face. He can see just how wet she his, he can see her fingers glistening from across the damn room, and all he wants to do is bury his face between her legs and lick her clean.

With that thought, he can smell her now, sweet with an almost spicy undertone and _fuck_ he needs her. He can’t resist now, downing the rest of his bourbon and taking himself in his hand, dick twitching like crazy as he tightens his grip.

So he gives her his own show: tugging slowly, using precome to massage the head with his thumb, moaning softly. It seems to do the trick, the hand cupping her breast ends up between her legs as she pinches her clit, her other fingers still inside her.

She moans, long and high pitched as she arches off the bed. Her toes curl, her hips buck, her whole body tenses, just for a moment, before relaxing again. She lies flat on the bed for a moment, breathing deep, before pulling out her fingers and sitting up on one elbow, looking at him with a devious look in her eye.

“Enjoy the show?”

Jesse hums, standing up. He bites his lip as he swipes his thumb over his leaking slit. “Need you to do something for me.”

Ashe sits up, crawls to the edge of the bed before sitting and opening her mouth. He tightens his grip as he crosses the distance between them, lining himself at her mouth. Her tongue darts out first, licking against his slit before she wraps her hand around his cock, and he shudders at the delicious wet heat of her mouth.

He’ll never tire of seeing her with her lips around his dick, bright red lipstick contrasting against her pale skin, a contrast in itself against his own skin tone. She takes him deeper, bobbing up and down, right to where her hand is wrapped, before moving her hand away to massage his balls and going deeper still.

He groans, cupping the back of her head. She’s never been able to take him all the way. When she swallows around him, he moans and practically sees stars, scrunching his hand through her hair. She pulls back slowly, applying suction, and he looks down at her, meeting her gaze when she swirls her tongue around his head. 

She starts bobbing up and down again, and Jesse can feel how close he actually is to orgasm. He pulls on her other arm, wanting to lick the fingers she just had in herself, realising she is _still_ playing with herself.

"Ashe," he moans, bringing her hand up to his mouth to suck on her fingers. It was just for a taste, because he did have intentions to ask her to sit on his face, but his body has other plans, and the second he tastes her on his tongue, he realises he’s there. “Fuck—” is all he gets out, a groan, a warning for her sake as he comes so she’s not taken by surprise.

She moans, muffled, her eyes squeeze shut. He doesn’t stop licking her fingers, savouring her taste as it starts to fade.

Eventually, she opens her eyes, smirking when she comes off completely. She doesn’t say anything, not as she stands, not as her hand slips from his grasp, not as she turns her back on him, walking into the bathroom and leaving him alone in the room.

When he hears the shower, he comes to his senses, looking down at his softening cock, before grabbing his towel and wiping himself down. That… was something he has never experienced before. From the exhibitionism, to craving her so much the second he tasted her he came. He hates the nickname quick draw but that’s how he earned it, his dick, which he’s already established as a traitor, which he doesn’t have control over, finishing before he’s truly ready for it to be over.

He tosses the towel to the floor, grabbing the photo and locking it in the safe with the keys to the bike. At least he won't have to carry the thing on him now.

As he dresses—and he hates that he's having the thought—but _fuck_ , all he wants to do is eat her out again, get so drowned in her juices that he can still smell her hours later.

But as his stomach growls, about as angrily as he feels, he knows he needs to eat at the very least before asking for _another_ round of sex.

He thought sleeping with her twice would be enough to get her out of his system.

Three times and counting, and all he _wants_ is her.

He is in some serious, deep shit right now.


	5. Slipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Clothed sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also contains:  
> -public sex, which I moved from day 1, 'cause what's a Chillie fic without public banging? XD  
> -Against the wall from day 6,  
> -...And I guess more hate sex

There is something that can be said about Ashe's innate ability to reduce Jesse to nothing but his horny lizard brain.

There should be nothing sexual about eating a burger and fries. She's not careful with it, not delicately nibbling at it and eating one fry at a time. No, she's got a good hold of the burger between both hands, she stuffs several fries in her mouth at one time, and shit, the way she licks up ketchup from the corner of her mouth? Gorgeous.

He _shouldn't_ be hard. He's slept with her three times in less than twenty-four hours. He should have had his fill and then some, but Christ, all he wants is another round. Maybe it's his body trying to make up for lost time? She was always a good lay. She still _is_ a good lay, best sex he's had in a while, if he's being honest.

“Quit it,” Ashe mumbles with a mouth full of food, not even looking at him.

Jesse looks at his long-forgotten burger in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth. “Quit what?” he asks as innocently as he can, before taking a bite out of it.

“Eye fucking me.” She glances at him, and he almost chokes, bringing his other hand to his mouth in the off chance he does cough it up everywhere. She smirks, seductively bringing her thumb up to her mouth and sucking on it.

Like _that's_ really helping things.

He takes a breath now that he's successfully swallowed that mouthful, trying to think of _anything_ that'll distract from his twitching erection. “I was just admiring the fact that you know how to handle a burger,” he says. Then he smirks, remembering the perfect story. “I went on a date with a woman once, she ate nothing but a salad like a damn rabbit.”

“She sounds charming,” Ashe replies, sarcasm drowning her words. “Since when do you date women like that?”

“When it involves intel, I'd do anything.”

“Was she a good fuck?”

Jesse chuckles, glancing at Ashe. “No, she most certainly was not. Just laid there and took it.”

“Christ,” Ashe hisses, picking up her beer and taking a good swig. “Did you get the intel you wanted at least?”

“Yep, thank fuck,” Jesse replies, stealing a fry of Ashe's plate and eating it as she scowls, sliding her plate away from him defensively. “Target was her friend—and I use the word friend in the loosest definition possible because she stabbed her in the back so hard it's a damn miracle she wasn't arrested for it.”

“She sounds like a piece of work. But at least you got something out of it.”

Jesse hums, stuffing the rest of his burger in his mouth. “A successful hunt.”

“Reminds me of this guy I tried hitting up once." Ashe picks the last few fries off her plate and eats them, pushing her plate aside to cross her arms on the table. "Had tattoos and piercings, long hair too. He looked dangerous, like my kind of guy, but he was a complete and utter hipster vegan dipshit.”

“Ouch.”

“Never been so disappointed in my life,” she mutters.

Jesse barks a laugh. “So I'm off scot-free then.”

“Fuck no," Ashe retorts. "What you did goes beyond apologising—which you still haven't done, I might add—and I'll never, _ever_ forget it.”

“Don't remember you apologising for my arm either,” Jesse mumbles.

“You could've had it much worse,” she says callously.

That ticks Jesse off, it clears him of his stupor like she physically slapped him across the face. He knows it’s true, it _could_ have been worse, but hearing it from her mouth like _that_ just kicks up the years of anger and resentment he had buried away. “You know what? Fuck you.” He stands, the chair skids across the ground loudly. “I'm fucking done. I don't need to hear this shit from you.”

Before Jesse can turn away, Ashe grabs his hand. Before he can snatch it back, she clutches his collar and pulls him down into a fiery kiss. For a brief moment he resists, he's so angry that the last thing he wants is her face pressed against his, but he feels himself slipping as she licks his lips, and it's all over when he opens his mouth and her tongue slides against his.

Jesse paws at her, pulling her in close enough to lift her up. It breaks off the kiss and she looks down at him, grinning. As he stares into her eyes, he wishes this bar were empty because he'd love to carry her to the pool table and fuck her senseless. Glancing around, it is quite full and everyone’s eyes are on them.

He looks back at her, assessing their options. The bathroom would be easy and tempting; it's closed off and private. But he _knows_ Ashe—she isn't going to be quiet.

With a smirk, he carries her outside. The courtyard is empty thank fuck, and he sets her down.

Ashe grabs him by the belt buckle and pulls him to the wall. He presses her against it, kissing her hard. She makes quick work unclasping his belt and undoing his jeans, pushing them and his underwear down. Jesse moans softly when she takes his cock in her hand.

“Didn't realise when you said ‘fuck you’ you meant it literally,” she says, pulling languidly.

Jesse doesn't say anything, he knows anything that comes out of his mouth right now would be harsh. Instead, he turns his attention to undoing her jeans, pulling them and her underwear down and rubbing between her folds. His gaze snaps to meet hers—she's so fucking wet already, he slips two fingers inside her with ease, massaging her clit with his thumb.

“Don't give me that look,” she mutters, frowning. She lets go of his cock, he pulls his hand away, and she turns, facing the wall, sticking her ass out.

Jesse bites his lip as he takes a step forward. He holds onto her hip with one hand, bends his knees enough to line himself at her entrance, groaning when he pushes in. 

He's not slow, not cautious with his movements. This isn't sensual sex, this is an angry fuck. A means to channel his anger and release it all when he comes instead of ending up with a scratched up prosthetic and a damage bill for the wall he could be punching right now.

Not only is it rough, it's loud—from the skin slapping against skin to her moans—but he doesn't care. For once, he doesn't care if she's close. He doesn't care if someone sees, and he sure as shit doesn't care that the people inside and on the street can hear them. All he cares about is this moment, this fuck, chasing his orgasm.

He can already feel it, the pressure in his core building as it reaches critical mass, and he can't hold back his stifled grunts anymore. As he sits on the edge, he moans, and he rams himself inside her hard one last time, holding onto her hips tight as he comes. He doesn't even try to be quiet about it, that's how little fucks he gives about this moment. It's not like he's going to hang around Arizona another moment longer than he has to. He’s not going to see any of these people again.

She jerks against him, a futile attempt to get him going again. He doesn't give a shit about her as he floats down from the high, he refuses to continue fucking her. Hell, he doesn’t even grind against her to give her something to work with.

Eventually, she gets the hint, stopping and looking over her shoulder. “Really?” she asks flatly.

Jesse shrugs. It’s so satisfying knowing she didn't finish and that she's pissed off about it because this is a first for her with him. She can go and fuck herself for all he cares.

He pulls out, tucks himself back into his underwear and does up his jeans. When he looks up, she's still against the wall in the same position he left her in, and when he meets her eyes, he can see the storm brewing inside her.

Ashe turns around, leaning against the wall. “You'll pay for that,” she says, low and dangerous.

“Aww, what are you going to do? Kill me?” Jesse asks, all venom as he pulls his jacket away, revealing Peacekeeper. “All ‘cause you didn't finish?”

“I was thinking,” she says, pulling up her jeans and underwear, “since you're a quick draw and you've been somewhat unsatisfying over this past day, we go back to the motel.” She does up her jeans without breaking eye contact, and she stalks forward. “See how long you can go without coming.”

Jesse scoffs. “You want to _edge_ me?”

“I want to make you my plaything.” She places a hand on his chest, dragging it up to cup his jaw tightly. “I want you to come so hard you won't be able to walk straight.”

 _Fuck_ , he's so weak. He _knows_ he should leave. It'll take one wrong thing, a misspoken word or jab at his prosthetic again and he'll lose his temper. He knows that he won't be able to hold back, that he could say something truly hurtful.

But as he looks into her eyes, sees red hot desire looking back at him, he knows he's a lost cause.

Grabbing her wrist, he kisses her palm, giving her his answer.  

“God, you're so fucking easy,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and snatching her hand away.

“Rich, coming from the nympho.”

“Please,” she says, turning her back on him. “We both know you're as addicted to sex as I am.”

Jesse watches her enter the bar. If he wasn't thinking with his dick right now, or incredibly turned on by the mere thought of being edged by her, he'd leave and never look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you guess what the next chapter's going to entail? XD


	6. Pushed to the Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Edging, Praise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for a perspective shift...

Jesse fucking McCree.

Never in a million years did Ashe expect to have him in her bed again.

The first time—the short time they had together before it was _stolen_ by Overwatch—was pure bliss: sex and nothing more.

She'd been attracted to him for a long time, probably longer than he’d been attracted to her. There wasn't much from him until she upped the ante with lingering touches and excessive flirting.

When she bought her rose stockings—for herself, she might add—that's when he started leering. From that day on, she wore them every damn minute of every damn day, and took great fucking pleasure in watching him practically drool.

When they started sleeping together, he asked if she could keep them on. Some days he'd even take his time, touching them, kissing them, giving her legs his utmost attention and she absolutely preened.

Hell, he loved them so much she can't wear them now without thinking of fucking him.

It was eight years later when their paths crossed again. It wasn't her intention to sleep with him, she was going to punish him for his betrayal with a bullet between his eyes. There was something that stirred within her when she laid eyes on him after all those years, though, and she decided, one last fuck before he paid his dues.

Big fucking mistake.

She wouldn't have considered herself in love with him. Not like back in the day at least. But the sex gave off a spark, an image in her mind of what things could’ve been like if he hadn't left, of the things they could've accomplished in that time. She supposes a small part of her wished for it all over again, that after the sex he would come back and they'd pick up right where they left off.

He said something though, something of a finality that truly indicated that he had no intention of spending any more time with her: _The difference between you and me, Ashe, is we’ve ended up on opposite sides of the law._

She should have just ended him there and then, but instead of pulling the trigger, she knocked him out.

Deadlock took a massive hit with the sting that took Jesse, and those that remained were so power hungry she was barely calling the shots. She needed to give them proof that Jesse had been taken care of after almost a decade, and the only thing she could do—the only thing her heart would _allow_ —was to take his arm. A small pittance for his betrayal.

She didn’t do it herself. She couldn’t see harm brought to him by her own two hands. But she paid her doctor to do it, paid for the best care for him and covered the cost for his prosthetic. It was a shame it was his left arm, but he’d learn how to do everything with his right eventually.

The worst part was when he woke up. He was high on painkillers, she’s certain he doesn’t remember it, given he commented that she never apologised. The reality was, she did apologise. Profusely. He wasn’t having any of it at the time, and rightly so, but it didn’t make it easier.

There was nothing left of Deadlock after that. The arm wasn’t enough, and the leaders of the other gangs she’d roped in over the years realised that if she’d let Jesse get off essentially scot-free, then they could walk and she wouldn’t do a goddamn thing about it.

Thing is, she didn’t love them like she loved Jesse.

It only took hunting down and killing three of the defectors to bring the others into line. After that, between then and now, it’s been tumultuous. They keep the peace because they signed an oath, but otherwise stay out of each other's way. 

Seeing Jesse this third time and toying with him in their old stomping ground was satisfying. Everything after proved what a pain in the ass he actually is, and reaffirms her belief that she should’ve just killed him all those years ago, that she should've done it yesterday. How dare he tie her up, steal her bike, make her a damn laughing stock in front of the gang?

She snaps back to reality when Jesse moans, and she looks down, realising she’s got his hair in a tight handful. To his credit he hasn’t stopped, he’s still eagerly licking inside her and sucking on her clit.

Shame she was too lost in her thoughts to properly enjoy it.  

Loosening her grip, it gets his attention, and she sits back on his chest. She smirks, combing her fingers through his hair. “Sounded like you were getting close.”

“Getting there,” Jesse breathes, grinning. He looks so damn happy, so blissed out. It reminds her of what they had, and she feels a warmth in her chest.

She quashes that down. Before she gets hurt again. “Am I clean?”

“You were clean about a minute into this. The rest of it was me just enjoying myself.” Jesse turns his head, kissing her inner thigh.

Ashe hums, scooting back and sitting on his stomach. She feels his cock against her back, it twitches against her. “We’re only getting started,” she says with a smirk, reaching behind her and ghosting her fingertips up his length. She follows the trail of precome all the way to the source, massaging his head with her thumb. It twitches again, he moans softly, and she squeezes the tip of his cock. “Nuh-uh, you’re not coming only fifteen minutes into this.”

Jesse takes a breath and holds it, looking like he wants to say something. She gives him the opportunity, the safe word is in play at the moment—not only is she edging him but he is restrained, his arms tied up to the bed with both his belts. The only way he agreed to it was if his gun is under his pillow, but she's sure he could snap this bed in half with his prosthetic arm alone, so he's not _really_ restrained.

Shame.

“So what’s next, boss?” Jesse asks, exhaling and smiling wide.

Ashe lets go of him, once she’s sure he’s not going to come, and hums thoughtfully, hands trailing up and down Jesse’s chest before settling on his pecs. “I see you’ve been keeping in shape. You’re not the scraggly kid you used to be.”

Jesse looks down at her hands, smirking before meeting her gaze. “Former life had me doing drills and going to the gym. I’ve kept it up since then, use it as a release.”

“That so,” she says, sweeping down and pressing her lips to his nipple. “You don’t release in other ways?” She licks over the hardened bud, and Jesse shudders. “That why you’re a quick draw?”

“Sex lasts on average for five minutes,” Jesse retorts, huffing. “You make it sound like I have a problem, which I _don’t_. And it’s hardly my fault you choose to wait so long before having an orgasm.”

“Don’t like pleasing your lovers?” She gives his nipple her full attention now, kissing and sucking it.

“I’ll please my lovers all damn night." Jesse moans, he pulls on his restraints, holding tight before relaxing again. "Difference between them and you," he says, low and dangerous, "is we ain’t lovers.”

Ashe feels that one, like an ice-cold knife just stabbed her right through the heart. She’s thankful her head is down, and she increases the force of her licks and sucks on his nipple to recover. When she feels her eyes well with tears, she squeezes them tight to hopefully regain some semblance of composure.

It was stupid, thinking that he would join her again. It was stupid holding onto that picture, and it was stupid agreeing to _this._ What was she _thinking_? He doesn’t love her. He _never_ loved her. That’s why he left in the first place and why he never came back.

Bitter and angry, she scoots backwards until she reaches his cock, presses a hand to his chest to stand on her knees, and lines him at her entrance. Sinks down slowly, watching his eyes widen and fill with lust. “You will not come,” she says through gritted teeth as she rocks her hips.

He pulls on his restraints again, and he balls his hands into fists as she starts to increase her speed.

Edging him this way is lazy really, she had a whole host of stimulation activities she wanted to do, but fuck him, he doesn’t deserve any of that. She’ll gladly bounce up and down on his dick, riding wave after wave of orgasm.

She watches his every move, every twitch of his lips, the way his eyes flutter closed, the sound of his moans. When he bites his lip though, she stops, waits for that look of desire to change into frustration before starting up again. It’s satisfying, building him up just to stop, moments from release, seeing the frown grow darker, that wrinkle on the bridge of his nose only deepening with each pause.

After her third orgasm, she stops. Straddling him like this is starting to cause her legs to ache, but more importantly, the bitterness is finally gone and she can stomach another look at him without wanting to punch his lights out.

“You’re doing well,” she coos, sweeping down to kiss him softly. “Such a good boy.”

Jesse hums, his tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip, but she doesn’t give him the satisfaction, pulling up again.

“I think I might untie you,” she says, moving to his flesh hand first, unclasping the belt, before moving onto his prosthetic and unbuckling that belt too. The second his hands are free, he rubs at his wrist, and she can see just how hard he was pulling on it—it almost looks burned.

Taking his wrist in her hands, she kisses his skin gently, watching him for a reaction. He doesn’t do anything, other than look back, a faint smile on his lips. “What?” she asks.

“You’ve got a duality to you. You can be wild one minute, gentle the next.” He pulls his hand away, resting it on her inner thigh, rubbing little comforting circles with his thumb. “Ain’t seen anyone else quite like you.”

“I’m one of a kind,” she says, reaching out to drag her fingers through his beard. She'll never admit it, but her heart fluttered something fierce when she laid eyes on him yesterday. “Full beard suits you. Not those horrible sideburns or even the goatee without the moustache. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Hey," Jesse says defensively, "the mutton chops are a timeless classic.”

“They’re hideous. This,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb along his upper lip, “is much better. A beard suits you.”

“Glad you like it.”

Ashe smiles, climbing off him and lying by his side. She runs her fingers through his chest hair absently, as one stray thought lingers in her mind. It's been there from the moment he said it last night, and she needs to know if it's true or if he was trying to get her to shut up. “What happened?”

“Hmm?” Jesse turns his head and kisses her forehead.

“On that day,” she whispers, meeting his gaze. “You said that you didn’t have a choice.”

Jesse inhales and exhales slowly, looking back at the ceiling. He's silent for a long time, but she can see that he's working on something by the way his eyes narrow. “They took me in,"he says with a sigh. "Told me you’d abandoned me, bought yourself out and left.” Whether it’s his subconscious or intentional, his hand settles in her hip and he holds her tight, as if he's afraid to let her go.

“I didn’t leave you,” Ashe says quietly. She meets his eyes, and she can feel hers prickle again.

“They gave me the option to rot in prison or work for them. I had some untapped potential and they thought I’d be a valuable member of their team.”

"So you did leave willingly," she mutters. Despite it being a confirmed fact, she's not angry. Not any more than she has been these past fifteen years, at least.

"You know me, Ashe." He pauses, and when Ashe meets his gaze, he continues, "I hate being cooped up, I _needed_ to be free."

Ashe inhales and exhales slowly, remembering the single stakeout she went on with him. Two days inside and he was practically scratching at the walls for an escape. And honestly, if the roles had been reversed, she would have chosen to work with them over prison too. Granted, she wouldn't have  _stayed_ with them like Jesse did, she would have escaped the second she had a chance. 

But that is the past, and there's no point spending another moment living in what-ifs.

“Fuck them,” Ashe breathes, leaning in and resting her head against his. “Fuck them for lying,” she pecks him on the lips, “for taking you,” another peck, “for ruining a good thing.” She kisses him now, really kisses him as her hand trails down his torso, taking his cock in her hand. His hips buck and he moans, she pulls away just enough to look in his eyes. “Soon,” she whispers. “You're such a good boy, so patient for me.”

Jesse bites his lip and nods, and for a short moment she actually feels sorry for him and contemplates just putting him out of his misery and finishing him.

But that quickly passes, and she has more questions. She starts tugging, slow, careful movements, and she watches him like a hawk. “What did you mean when you said you were protecting me?”

“They wanted to come back,” Jesse breathes. “Wasn’t right away, was after a couple years. I told ‘em that you’re nothing now, that you’re not the same you were when they got me.”

“‘Cause you were the sole leader of Deadlock?”

“Told them what they wanted to hear." He meets her eyes. "To keep you safe.”

“Even though you were a good guy and I was the bad guy?”

“Didn’t matter,” Jesse whispers. He exhales slowly and she can see the pure anguish in his eyes. She can tell he’s there, that he just wants this to be over, and she did plan to not end this before an hour ticked over at the very least, but there’s just something she can’t shake—it doesn’t matter how much she thinks she can harm him, she has a soft spot for him.

Always have, always will.

Don’t mean she’s going to tell him, though.

“All right,” she whispers, tugging a little faster. “You've been so good for me, but you can let go now. Come for me, Jesse.”

He moans, his eyes flutter closed as he brings his hand up behind her to run through her hair. She leans down, kisses and sucks on his neck and his hips jerk wildly.

She knows he’s there when he pulls on her hair, from the absolute guttural and animalistic shout he lets out and she lifts her head, watching him come, the spurts getting impressive airtime and landing on his abs. For someone who’s come several times over the last day and a bit, there’s so much of it streaking his body.

“Christ,” he breathes, looking at himself before letting his head fall back down to the pillow. He stares at the ceiling as he catches his breath, and she lets go of him, resting her hand just above his groin. He glances at her and smiles wide. “You are cruel.”

“But was it the best orgasm you’ve ever had?”

Jesse chuckles, brings his hand down to cup around her shoulder. “It’s up there.”

She can’t help it, but she rolls her eyes and climbs out of bed. It’s strange that a comment as simple as that is triggering. She knows she doesn’t need to prove herself to him, but the sense of gratification of being the bestis there. 

Stepping into the bathroom, she grabs a towel and tosses it to him before she closes the door and sits on the toilet. “Pull yourself together,” she mutters, burying her face in her hands. She thinks she might just leave, the longer she stays in his company the worse she gets, and she’s starting to fall apart.

She shouldn’t have come.

She should have told him to go fuck himself.

Curse her fucking heart.

With a deep sigh, she runs her fingers through her hair, glancing at the toilet roll before pulling on the end, tearing some off and folding it in her hand. As much as she wants to leave, a part of her—an annoying, clingy part of her—just wants to snuggle up to him, something she was deprived of last night.

If she’s lucky, he’s taken off in the time she’s spent here and she won’t have to make a decision.

Sighing again, she wipes, flushes the toilet, washes her hands, and steps out of the bathroom. Her eyes are instantly drawn to Jesse still in bed, asleep, towel still draped over his stomach.

She can’t help but smile fondly, walking over to him, gently lifting the towel away and dropping it to the floor. Just as gently, she climbs into bed and cuddles up beside him.

Breathing in his smell, she relaxes. Truly relaxes in a way she hasn’t in years.

 _This_ is what she needs, and in the morning, she’ll be gone before he wakes.  


	7. Too Far Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Shower sex

Jesse wakes slowly.

The first of his senses to kick in is his smell, and he catches a good whiff of Ashe’s perfume. 

Touch is next, his fingers twitch and he feels warm skin. Since he couldn't feel it on himself, it's definitely not his own.

His nose tickles, it takes him a moment to realise it’s Ashe’s hair, and when he opens his eyes, he settles on the back of her head. He listens to her deep, rhythmic breathing, knowing full well she’s still asleep, and gives in to this moment of bliss. 

_ This  _ is what they had. They shared a bed from the moment they started sleeping together and never stopped. He found comfort in it, safe and warm, nothing in the world could hurt him.  Even though they didn't sleep together every night, he would still wake up next to her in the morning. 

Occasionally, they’d wake each other with sex.  They had sex the morning he was taken—slow, lazy, she wasn’t really interested but let him anyway. Hell, he pretty much just stuck his dick in her and left it at that, almost falling asleep again joined together. 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about that often, if he didn’t think about what  _ could _ have happened if Gabe didn’t take him away. Would he be here, now, at thirty-eight with Ashe in his bed? Or would he be dead, long gone and forgotten?

If there's one thing that’s for certain: he wouldn’t be the man he is today. He’s atoned for his past transgressions in Deadlock. He’s atoning for his transgressions in Blackwatch now, but he’s a better human than he ever was or would be had he stayed Deadlock loyal. He wasn’t a good person then, but he’s in a place now where he can say he  _ is _ a good person now. 

Closing his eyes again, he nuzzles in closer to Ashe, resting his head against hers. He knows he has to leave before she wakes because he knows he could very easily stay here for another day of lusty sex. 

They put aside their differences for this little bubble of desire and he’s thankful she’s not seen him harmed. He doesn’t trust her as far as he can throw her, but comparing this time and last time… She had a wall up last time, a wall that isn’t there now. He’s mostly certain she hasn’t organised anything, but that doesn’t mean he’s not on high alert.

That’s the reason why he needs to leave, though. The longer he stays, more comfortable he gets, the greater the chance that she’ll  _ do _ something. He could have his other arm removed like she threatened, and he's incredibly fond of his flesh arm.

But despite all that, he  _ hates _ the thought of leaving. God, he wishes he could stay. A small part of him, at least, the small part in his heart that  _ wants _ to go back into her arms. The rest of him though, namely his brain and his trusty gut, is telling him to get a move on, leave and never come back. 

He can't stay with her. Their lives clash. He  _ won't _ go back to the gang, and she won't leave it. He likes bounty hunting, taking the trash off the streets—the trash like him when he was a dumb shit of a kid—and putting them in the hands of the cops where they belong. That’s something he wouldn’t be able to do with Ashe, and he knows there’s no way she’d give up the gang for him. It’s her baby, she’ll die before leaving it behind. 

So he has to leave  _ her  _ behind.

He takes one final deep breath of her perfume, basking in this moment of what they had, before slowly pulling his hand away. He gently climbs out of bed, pads across the room into the bathroom. It’s a shame he needs to have a shower, but he can still smell her scent on his face from licking her clean last night. There’s no way he’ll be able to function, to ride the bike for the day with an erection. He needs to rid himself of her smell before he leaves. 

Turning on the shower, he waits until the water is warm enough before stepping under. He knows he doesn’t have long, so he quickly washes himself down, scrubs his face, shampoos his hair, but as he’s rinsing, he feels hands on his waist. 

“Good morning,” Ashe says, kissing between his shoulder blades. 

Jesse closes his eyes. He's not even annoyed she's woken. His stomach flutters with each kiss, his cock twitches with each one too, which is affirmation enough that he's in deep and needs to leave. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?”

“Pretty good. You?”

“Haven’t slept that well in a long time.” Ashe’s arms curl around his chest as she presses her body to his. “Sleeping next to you is relaxing.”

Jesse hums, tilting his head to the side when she stands on her toes, kissing the spot between his shoulder and neck. Her hand trails back down slowly, and he knows her destination before she gets there. 

“For old time’s sake,” she whispers, taking his half hard cock in his hand and pulling languidly. It seems he wasn’t the only one thinking about what they had. 

Jesse wedges his hand between them, and he can feel her smile against his skin as he fingers between her folds. When she starts rocking her hips, he holds still. There’s just something so incredibly hot about her taking charge like that. Always has been with her.

She moans softly, he feels the caress of her breath against his shoulder before she pulls away and steps in front of him. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and he catches her as she leaps up. 

He aims the showerhead at the wall, giving it a moment to heat up. He leans in to kiss her, soft, gentle but still full of passion, and without breaking it, he presses her against the wall. 

Reaching down, he takes himself in his hand. He blindly rubs against her until he finds her entrance and pushes in slowly. 

Ashe gasps as he inches in, and when he's in all the way, she kisses him again.

He rolls his hips, not in any rush . It was their thing, after all; slow, lazy morning sex, starting off their day the right way, and today is no exception. 

Feeling the pressure building in his core, he adjusts his stance so he can get in a little deeper. Ashe moans against his mouth, her breath hot against his lips, and she presses her forehead to his, cupping the back of his head. 

“Miss this,” she whispers. Jesse just catches it over the sound of the rushing water. “Think about what we had all the time.”

“Me too,” Jesse replies, saying it without thinking. It’s the truth and he doesn’t care that she knows. 

She holds him tighter, and he increases his pace, now quick snaps of his hips. Today, this time, he has no intentions to finish first, if this is the last time they have sex he wants it to be something to remember, something he can think about when he’s feeling vulnerable. 

He feels her come before she moans: the way her back arches off the wall, the way her legs tighten around him, the gentle bite on his shoulder. 

It throws him back into the past, the sounds, the smells, the feelings. Being a twenty-something, wanting to tell her she's more than a friend, that this is more than casual sex. 

His eyes slide closed when he feels her internal constriction, when she moans. It's the icing on the cake, a sound he’ll never tire of hearing, a sound he’ll never forget. With her moan goes his last lingering shred of willpower. 

“Liz…” he breathes burying his head in the crook of her neck, grinding against her as he rides out the high. When the only noise he can hear is the shower, there is only one thought that remains.

He called her Liz.

If he ever needed an out, that was it. He’s getting too comfortable, and he knows he’s on a slippery slope. 

He won’t succumb. 

He won’t  _ allow _ himself to succumb.

Ashe nuzzles against his head, pressing kisses to his cheek until he pulls up. He pushes the panic and dread back down—maybe she didn't hear it—and loses himself in the kiss. It’s sweet, tender, and honestly perfect given their weekend. 

When the kiss recedes, Jesse looks at her and smiles softly. This’ll be the last time he sees her. “How about I get some breakfast?” he asks. “You take your time in here.”

“I’d like that,” she replies, kissing the tip of his nose. 

Jesse looks into her eyes and he can see the sadness behind them; she knows this is it. He leaves it unspoken though, he always hated goodbyes, and he savours this moment, this last moment where they’re joined.

He doesn't look away when he pulls out and sets her down. Nothing is said between them as Jesse finishes washing. The atmosphere isn’t tense or awkward despite the sadness hanging in the air. 

Once he’s done, he gives her one last gentle kiss, and steps out of the shower. He dries like he isn’t in a rush, combs back his hair, leaves the brush on the counter and steps out of the bathroom.

The second the door is closed, he dresses like his life depended on it and quickly packs his shit—it’s times like these he’s glad he lives out of his duffel bag. He hefts it over his shoulder, goes to the safe, unlocks it and grabs the picture and the bike keys, stuffing both in separate pockets before he heading out. 

He heads to the waffle house across the street, gets Belgian waffles with strawberries and extra whipped cream along with a to-go coffee, taking it back to the motel room in what feels like record time. 

Opening the door slowly, cautiously, he hears the sound of the shower; she’s still in there. Setting the waffles and coffee down on the table, he pulls out the photo from his pocket and looks at it one last time. He huffs a little laugh at its power to bring them together, before placing it down next to the food. He suspects the beef with the bike was all about that picture, and honestly, he doesn’t want it. It’ll serve as a reminder of that night and of this weekend. He doesn’t need that weakness. 

With one final glance at the bathroom door, he tips his hat before turning his back on her. He sighs as he takes the stairs, going over their lusty weekend in his mind as he uncovers the bike, as he folds up the sheet and stores it in the compartment under the seat. 

He looks at the room one last time as he starts up the bike, and he cannot help but smirk. He might be weak for calling her, for giving in and sleeping with her, but damn if it wasn’t the best time he’s had in a long while.

Driving out of the parking lot, he turns on the street and tears down the road. At least he got his fill and then some. As much as he is strangely saddened that he won’t see her again, a part of him is glad. 

But he cannot help but think: _never say never_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go!!
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of you for making it to the end. I'm glad you enjoyed it enough to stick it out! Thank you for your kudos and comments. It means the absolute world to me.
> 
> I've got another McAshe story ready to go, a Deadlock AU I'm ready to sink my teeth into and fully expand on in a whole series starting with the Blackwatch sting and beyond, including a partnership with a certain Japanese clan. Expect that soon! Eventually, I want to touch on how Jesse and Ashe meet and the founding of the gang, but that's currently an idea sitting in my head. 
> 
> In the meantime, I'll be on twitter. See you out there!  
> \--Chillie

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) Come say hi!!


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